


Time and Space

by Magical_Destiny



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Mush, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, Romance, What I'm saying is that this is sappy, teacups and time and the rules of disorder, the teacup comes back together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 11:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11379096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Destiny/pseuds/Magical_Destiny
Summary: Will thinks of cold snow and cold beds, limbs aching with fatigue and stress, notebooks filled with unknowable equations. Hannibal doesn’t write out such equations anymore. Doesn’t try to solve his life and come up lacking. There is no lack in their life now.





	Time and Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannibalnuxvoxmica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalnuxvoxmica/gifts).



> Thanks so much, [hannibalnuxvoxmica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalnuxvoxmica), for indulging my sudden burst of writing and a spontaneous cry for beta help. Your enthusiasm helped motivate me to post!

Hannibal is always at his most philosophical just after dinner.

“I think, sometimes, about the value of happy memories,” he says, laying aside his fork. The dining room is lit by the fireplace, where the flames are just starting to wane. The light flashes against the tines of his fork, the blade of his knife. “Not merely for the satisfaction of lingering in moments once they’ve passed, but as something worth revisiting in every sense of the word, if time were to reverse.”

Will regards his plate thoughtfully. It’s empty except for a trace of the gravy Hannibal had served with the lamb. He can still smell hints of garlic and rosemary. The flavor is still present on his tongue. There are any number of ways he could reply, any number of variations on serious words or amused ones. He rarely has to choose only one or the other, with Hannibal. He allows his smile to surface of its own accord. He doesn’t often resist his instincts; not anymore.

“Are you saying you’ve enjoyed our life here so much that you want to live it again?” he asks. There’s a tease coiled in the words.

Hannibal hears it, of course. His face shifts minutely, flickering like the firelight on the gleaming oak table. He, too, is both serious and amused. “I would, given the chance. I linger over some moments in the halls of my mind.”

Will can imagine which ones. He’s certain he was present for most of them. Filled with joy, whether he’d accepted or contested it at the time. He nods, sipping the fragrant wine Hannibal had chosen for the meal.

“But that’s not what you meant.”

Hannibal shakes his head faintly in response. “If time were to run in another direction, I am glad to have a pleasant life to relive.” A pause, heavy with thought and implication. And, miraculously, with something like regret. “For the most part.”

“The most part.”

“There are some moments I would not wish to walk through again.”

Will feels the stab of cold raindrops, the bite of a blade in his head and his gut. Tastes blood and betrayal. He can imagine those moments too.

“I’ve often wondered what it would be like to live our —“ Hannibal halts to draw a breath and weigh his words, “— _association_ again. Arrive at our first meeting in reverse, weighted with memories and with love.”

Love. Something once so unimaginable, and Hannibal says it so easily now. Will doesn’t flinch in defense or doubt; he feels and absorbs the warmth from his proximity to the fire and to Hannibal.

They’ve both made progress.

The silence is short and comfortable. “Meeting me again,” Will muses. “And then passing beyond me. Into a past I wasn’t a part of.”

“No,” Hannibal replies. His tone molds it clearly into a _never._ “If Time ran other than it does, there is no reason why I could not remember the future. Our future.”

Will smiles, and contradicts him. ”Time doesn't reverse, Hannibal. It never will.” He speaks gently, firmly. Hannibal loves to fling himself into vibrant fantasies. Will finds himself cast as the voice of reason. It’s a novel feeling.

They balance, as always.

Hannibal tilts his head in consideration, but nothing in his gaze or posture gives an inch. ”The measurement of time is a human construct. There are no more days and weeks than there is a visible equator. We observe the revolutions of the heavenly bodies and assign them meaning. We say that time moves forward only because we have never observed anything else, not because we understand its nature. Why should it not be as changeable as any other element or dimension? Stephen Hawking once said—“

"I thought Hawking went back on his Big Crunch theory.” Will interrupts.

Hannibal, never particularly fazed by Will’s rudeness, has only grown more immune with the passage of time. ”So you’ve studied this,” he comments. His tone is light and fond.

Will shrugs, easily winning the battle against his urge to squirm from the warmth in Hannibal’s gaze. ”You kept talking about it and I wanted to understand."

”Trying to know the idea or to know me?"

"Both."

Will watches him soften further. Leaving his vivid, skillfully spun fantasies and coming back to Will. He thinks of cold snow and cold beds, limbs aching with fatigue and stress, notebooks filled with unknowable equations. Hannibal doesn’t write out such equations anymore. Doesn’t try to solve his life and come up lacking. There is no lack in their life now.

”You always come searching for me,” Hannibal says quietly, eyes drifting to the fire. The light coaxes his eyes from black to a deep brown. “Pursuit is not something I'd ever thought to find pleasant."

"And yet,” Will says, and stares at the dimming fire. He stands and stirs it with the poker until the flames brighten again. Hannibal is smiling at him when he turns back.

“And yet,” he echoes Will easily. Over his shoulder, the curtains are drawn to prevent the setting sun from pouring its light too intensely into the dining room. But the golden seam of light is apparent where the edges meet.

"You know,” Will says, still regarding the sliver of gold, “These ideas about time and space don't leave much room for the present moment."

Hannibal folds his hands, as though keeping his theories safely pressed between them. ”If you're going to criticize a theory, it’s best to have a superior idea to present."

"Alright. I propose that we shut up and watch the sunset. Even if time isn’t real and the ritual is only a construct.”

Hannibal looks as though a grand declaration about reality is going to burst out of him; Will seizes one of his folded hands and tugs him up and outside.

A brilliant sky is waiting for them. Rich golds and rosy pinks, purples darkening from lavender to wine to black. The sun’s blinding flare slips over the edge of the horizon. Will thinks Hannibal would say that the sun had given way to the moon. Will would say that the earth spins on its axis: a predictable cycle. Hannibal stands close beside him. With him, as always. Will presses their shoulders together. Time could flow in any direction, for all he cares, as long as he’s granted this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing has been a STRUGGLE lately. I'm hoping to kick my writing difficulties to the curb with this oneshot. Fingers crossed! I hope you enjoyed this tiny, sappy oneshot. ;) Let me know if you did!


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